


Turnabout Wild Hearts

by OracleofSecrets_aka_Pepper



Category: Sayonara Wild Hearts (Video Game), 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: AA4 Spoilers, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Crossover, Gen, Manfred von Karma is there but not for long bc fuck that guy, Sayonara Wild Hearts au, Seven Year Gap (Gyakuten Saiban), description of anxiety attack(s), dream magic stuff just suspend your disbelief don't worry about it, hint of narumitsu but it's not the focus sorry, i promise it just takes a hot minute to get there, past phoenix/dahlia-iris mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29636616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OracleofSecrets_aka_Pepper/pseuds/OracleofSecrets_aka_Pepper
Summary: A disbarment, a tarot reading, and a tangled pile of unresolved Issues over the years all tangle up into magatama psychelock dreams (aesthetic and action heavily inspired by Sayonara Wild Hearts), confronting antagonists, memories, feelings, trauma and himself.A look in the heart of Phoenix Wright.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	1. Echoed Through Space and Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I've been super re-obsessed with Ace Attorney for uhhh nine months at least? And somehow I found enough courage to write and post this: my first fic ever :0  
> Not sure why I thought a super obscure crossover was the way to go, but here we are lol. (However I HIGHLY recommend Sayonara Wild Hearts. Neon gay girl motorcycle gangs rhythm pop game). With any luck, there will be like maybe 2 people who've actually played both games, so they can enjoy the easter eggs  
> Uh this is like... 10% beta read? since i'm p much a nobody and again - obscure crossover  
> Set toward the veeery end of 7-year-gap. I didn't start aa5 until after I finished it so shhhh it's fine, timelines aren't real  
> Updates Tuesdays  
> Kudos and comments are Xtremely welcome and appreciated

“Look what I got with Auntie Maya!” Trucy exclaims as she bursts into the apartment. She pulls out an indigo deck of cards and fans them out. They’re the same size as playing cards, but the faces have simple geometric drawings of figures, with the lines catching the light and shimmering with iridescence.

“Hmm, they sure don’t look like your other trick cards,” Phoenix notes good naturedly. “What’s with the pictures and words on them?”

“Auntie Maya said they’re for a different kind of magic!” she grins conspiratorially.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

Maya’s jaw drops. “Whaaaaat! You’ve never seen tarot cards before?”

Phoenix rolls his eyes and sighs. “Somehow no, despite being friends with you all these years.”

“It’s for _fortune telling_ ,” Trucy waggles her fingers playfully. “Maya said it’s for asking questions and seeing secrets and all sorts of stuff!”

“Huh. Kinda sounds like the magatama,” Phoenix says. “All right, so how does it work?”

Maya claps her hands together. “Allow me to demonstrate. Nick? You want a reading?”

“Ooh yeah! I wanna see!” Trucy bounces on her feet and looks eagerly at Phoenix.

He smiles and ruffles her hair. ”Sure, if it makes Trucy happy.”

Not that he needed much convincing. It’s always a joy to see her eyes sparkle when she’s excited about something. He’s not usually one for fortune telling, but he’s curious to see where this goes.

“So uh... What do I do?”

Maya clears her throat. “Please, take a seat, sir.”

Phoenix snorts a laugh and plops onto the couch as Maya and Trucy sit on the loveseat across from him.

“First you have to think about whatever you want to _ask the cards_.” She takes on the same airy mysticism act Trucy did earlier. “And then you gotta shuffle the deck while you think on it.”

“Okay…” Phoenix grabs the deck Trucy offers to him.

He’s not sure what to ask. Phoenix stares into space at a coffee stain on the table. He doesn’t need to look at the cards while he shuffles. It’s practically second nature at this point. He wishes it wasn’t.

_How did I get to this point?_

He feels a frown forming, but finds it disappearing just as quickly. It’s not all bad, he thinks, glancing at Maya and Trucy before zoning out again.

_But… How do I feel normal again? What comes next?_

Maya waves her hand in his field of vision. “You in there Nick? I think it’s probably shuffled enough.”

“Huh? Oh, y-yeah probably. Uh, Now what?”

“Gimme.” She takes back the deck and places five cards, as if at the points of a star, on the coffee table.

“Okay wait, lemme…” She rifles through the other shopping bags and pulls out a matching booklet.

“What’s with the book? Shouldn’t you know all this by heart?” Phoenix teases.

“I’d like to see you try to memorize like 150 meanings _and_ all the layout options,” she huffs. Then Maya claps her hands again in eagerness.

“Okay! Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, I guess.”

Trucy grins and swings her legs a bit.

Maya flips over the topmost card to reveal The Devil, a minimalist Baphomet figure on a pedestal between two flames. Phoenix raises his eyebrows.

“Hm. So in this spread, the first card represents your feelings. It could be about the past or the present or someone who’s stirred up those feelings.”

“How conveniently vague.”

“Daddy! Shush!”

Trucy peeks over Maya’s shoulder as she flips to the corresponding page. She lists out a few key phrases she’s skimmed.

“Okay, so it basically represents obsession, addiction, someone who’s ‘controlling, cruel, and sadistic.’”

Manfred von Karma flashes into his mind. The walking talking billboard for all of the above. His petty malice was the first domino in a vast array of people whose lives came tumbling down as a result.

If it weren’t for Manfred, Mia and Misty would probably still be alive. Maya wouldn’t have been thrust into her master role so soon. Phoenix absentmindedly reaches into his hoodie’s pocket to gently smooth his thumb over the magatama, taking a hint of comfort in its familiarity.

He… he could’ve stayed friends with Miles the whole time. His dad wouldn’t have died, and he wouldn’t have lived that hell under von Karma’s “care”. There’s so much they could have done together back then, how they could have had more time together—

“But it also means not holding yourself back, or that you could stand to put your own needs first and stand up for yourself.” Maya’s voice and cheeky smirk snaps him back to the present. “Sound familiar?”

Phoenix narrows his eyes at her. “Just keep going.”

“As you wish. I guess I’ll make sure to leave enough Dramatic Pauses so you can have your _deep heart-searching thoughts_ in peace.”

Phoenix smiles and shakes his head at her shenanigans.

She touches the card on the right. “This spot is for ‘influences.’”

The face of the card shows two wolves on a hillside howling at the moon.

“Ooh The Moon, I know this one. It has a lot to do with deception and moral crises.”

Phoenix snorts. “You mean my whole law career?”

“Ha, fair. But,” she continues, “there’s also stuff like depression from loss or secrets and lies being exposed.”

Phoenix gives a pensive hum and tries not to notice Trucy studying him out of the corner of her eye.

It’s no surprise how dodging those sorts of bullets landed him here. Gant, Morgan, Engarde… all those times his faith was tested after the masks came off. Back then, at least, he managed to endure it and come out of it with a better understanding of his job.

And then he fell right into a huge pitfall barely a year or two later.

“All right, next up is your emotional block.” The bottom right card is revealed —The Lovers. Underneath an arch of flowers, two long haired figures kneel before each other with their hands held up in front of them, perfect mirror images.

Before Maya can begin to explain, he thinks of Dahlia and Iris. Night and day. Bitter and sweet. A toxic duo.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Phoenix deadpans.

“Damn dude, what did you even ask the cards? And are you sure you shuffled ‘em well? I don’t know how you’ve _only_ gotten major arcana so far. I’m pretty sure that means something huge is gonna happen soon-ish, so you better listen up!”

Phoenix squirms a bit and gestures at her to continue.

“Well, this one’s usually pretty self explanatory, but this isn’t the good kind of reversed.” Maya opts to read directly from the booklet to try to soften the blow with impersonality. “‘Separation, struggling to take ownership of the decisions you’ve made. Friends move on and abandon you.’”

He winces, trying not to think about his Feenie days or Edgeworth’s disappearing act all those years ago. It doesn’t work.

He couldn’t forget those heartbreaks even if he tried.

“‘The need to heal a relationship.’ Or should I say... foster one, hmm?” Maya raises her eyebrows with a knowing look while Trucy giggles behind her hands.

Phoenix huffs and crosses his arms. “Urgh… _aNYwaY_.”

“Okay so now we’re at ‘expectations.’” The lower left card is The Hermit — the telltale cloaked man holding a staff and lantern.

“I expect to go live in a cave somewhere...?”

“Don’t be silly! I mean, it does mean like isolation and ‘the search for answers to life’s problems,’” she intones with mocking formality. “But it can also mean loneliness and paranoia. ‘Cause you’re either like thinking too much and getting stuck in your head, or you’re avoiding self-reflection altogether and hiding.”

“If you say so,” Phoenix shrugs.

His thoughts meander to the Hazakura Temple case — funny how that was just a few short months before he lost his badge — and Godot’s ever-present taunts in the last leg of the trial. How Phoenix was mocked once again for being a hapless excuse for a lawyer, always saved by someone at the last second. How he could feel Godot’s eyes, even through the visor, boring into him with each word hanging like fog in his frazzled, fever-rattled mind.

_“This time... you're going to have to do this by yourself.”_

This isn’t the first time all these years he’s remembered that insult or the seemingly clairvoyant jab. How true it was nowadays.

He has no choice but to lie low until everything falls into place, though. He can’t risk anyone getting caught in the crossfire.

Maya puts on her angry puffer face. “But you heard the cards! Don’t think you can use this as an excuse not to hang out!”

The unspoken _“like you did when this all started”_ hangs in the air. Phoenix deflects so Trucy doesn’t latch onto it.

He grins. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Maya.”

Trucy perks up at Phoenix’s upswing. She’s too familiar with that bitter look he gets when he’s tangled in regrets and self-doubt.

“Hang in there, we’re on the last one, which is ‘most likely outcome.’” Maya turns over the card. A classic skull-faced reaper in robes wielding a scythe stares back.

“I’m gonna DIE?!” he blurts.

“Oh My God, chill. Not literally anyway.”

“Gee, thanks. I feel so much better.”

Trucy relaxes her shoulders the tiniest bit, and Phoenix gives her a reassuring smile in return that says _I’m not going anywhere kiddo, not if I have anything to say about it_.

“I mean, let’s be real. You’re basically indestructible at this point.”

“Tell that to my spine,” he grumbles.

“Pfff, you old geezer. It’s actually not supposed to be a foreboding card. Like, it could mean fear of letting go or repeating negative patterns. But in this position it’s kind of a good thing: ‘transformation, rebirth or renewal. The end of an era.’”

He purses his lips thoughtfully. “Good to know.”

With where his mind was just minutes before, it’s hard not to be reminded of Kristoph’s specter looming over him. Kristoph being in jail isn’t enough; Phoenix still senses he’s being watched. He needs just a little more to prove Kristoph’s involvement in the Gramarye case. If the jurist system trial run (heh) works, it could mean the end of this 7-year nightmare. Then maybe… Phoenix can make his own comeback.

“Sooooo what do you think? Are you a believer now, after all those soul-searching truths?”

“I dunno about revelations, but I can’t say it didn’t give me something to think about I guess.” Phoenix gets up from the couch, stretching with a yawn. “Anyway, I’m glad you kids had fun today. Do you want me to go with you to the station, Maya?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Maya moves to gather her things. “Also you look like you’re about to pass out, so you better get to sleep, _old man_.”

“Yeah, yeah, get outta here if you’re gonna keep insulting me.” He waves Maya off, gives Trucy a kiss goodnight on the head and shuffles toward his room.

Trucy walks her to the door and latches onto her in a fierce hug. “Bye Auntie Maya! You’ll be able to make it to my show next week right?”

Maya hugs her back just as hard then pulls back to meet her twinkling eyes. “You know it! Pearly’s super excited about it, too. See you then, pumpkin.”

Phoenix smiles at what he manages to hear of their goodbyes. He tries to relax and listen to the muffled sounds of Trucy moving around and humming before she’s out of earshot and in her own bedroom.

He flops onto his bed face-first, still wearing his sweats. He’s too exhausted to change, despite spending the entire day at home doing nothing.

He turns onto his back and sighs wearily, reflexively worrying at the magatama in his pocket again. He’s surprised at how much that tarot stuff is still stuck in his brain. Each memory was another hole poked into his heart that he didn’t notice was making him sink till now. He closes his eyes and hopes he’ll be able to sleep tonight.

Unconsciousness begins to tug at Phoenix, and he’s too far along to be able to notice the magatama warming gently and glowing. In the very back of his mind, he can almost see five psychelocks appearing over the mirage-like cards, heavy chains crisscrossing to form the lines of a star.

As soon as sleep takes him, he’s jolted with a sensation of falling. He’s tumbling over and over through nothingness, with neon stars and constellations giving the only indication that he’s moving _somewhere_.

In the indiscernible distance, he spots darting movement. With something to focus on, Phoenix is more in control of his freefalling, and he aims his descent toward the mystery object. As he draws nearer, he’s able to make out its form. It’s a little ball of light with petals radiating around its center, and there are two familiar comma-like shapes on either side as wings.

He reaches out to touch the strange sprite, but it flits just out of his grasp.

He dives after it a few more times and snatches it out of the air.

He gently gasps as it flies out of his hands and starts swirling around Phoenix, propelling him into a rapid twirl. In its wake, a veil of bright light sweeps down him. He feels the sprite meld with his spirit or something, because a glittering intensity resonates through his very bones like an electric current. The light washes over him and his spinning slows, and the thrumming energy flows into his arm. He raises his hand and strikes his signature court pose, arm outstretched with a dramatic point of his finger.

Basking in this newfound vigor, he looks down to assess what’s different after that impromptu metamorphosis.

He’s wearing a suit. But it’s not his old suit. The jacket is missing, and his slacks are made of some much fancier material he’s never had before. He’s got a light blue waistcoat over his usual white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled past his elbows. Phoenix brings his hands to his face to feel around another addition to his get-up. A deep blue masquerade-superhero mask covers his eyes and nose, and big pink slits overlap the eyeholes like a cat’s eye.

He doesn’t get long to admire his look, much less get his bearings on what exactly is happening. The space a few feet in front of him shifts and morphs until a giant red psychelock materializes, and he’s pulled into its heart-shaped keyhole.


	2. Broken Glass, Smoke and Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A not-so-warm welcome to this wild dream-heart-psychelock-world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for:  
> description of an anxiety attack;  
> reference to Miles' Note (nothing in depth);  
> one-off implication of child abuse (also not in depth);  
> nongraphic hint of violence but no one important is hurt badly >:-)

The other end of the psychelock’s portal flings Phoenix into a bustling night time cityscape. With the absurd certainty of dreaming, he implicitly knows he’s in the past. Sort of.

And he’s on a motorcycle. 

“But I don’t know how to drive!” He whisper-panics to himself.

Fortunately, the bike seems to know where it’s going, and it’s not steering him into any danger despite the smattering of traffic, so he mentally shrugs it off.

He zips through the city around vehicles and alleyways, taking in the surroundings. The bright buildings and tunnels and cliff sides make him feel crowded in, and it presses his heart and lungs like a slowly cranking vice.

Deep in the city, Phoenix — or the motorcycle? He’s not really sure — abruptly drifts and screeches to a halt in front of a trio with matching masks. They’re a similar shape to Phoenix’s but more angular: the sides point upward into horns, and a black spike bleeds under the eyes in contrast to the mask’s hellfire pink hue.

Manfred von Karma stands in the front, leering at him. Franziska is leaning out from behind her father, looking down on Phoenix haughtily. Her fiery whip trails from the hand at her hip in a silent threat. Phoenix’s heart sinks when he sees Edgeworth flanking Manfred, his gaze cold and sharp as the Demon Prosecutor.

“And who might you be,” Manfred thunders. It’s not a question. 

“Er, Ph-Phoenix Wright…?” He cautiously dismounts and tries to shake off the constricting feeling he’s had since he was brought to this weird place. “I’m, uh, pretty sure we’ve met before, _von Karma_.” 

For a second, Manfred looks put off that Phoenix knew his name. Von Karma’s probably salty that Phoenix knows something that he doesn’t, in a way.

Franziska stands on her tiptoes and covers her hand to whisper an explanation to her father. 

“Hah. I’m in no habit of learning _defense attorneys’_ names. Although…” He trails off with an even more arrogant sneer. “I see you don’t have your badge. You’re even more of a nobody.” 

Manfred barks a laugh.

“The only thing more pitiful than a lawyer who doesn’t know when he’s lost is a _disgraced_ ex-lawyer hiding away and playing card games in a basement like the insect you are.”

Phoenix bristles, “You—”

“Shut up,” Manfred booms, stealing Phoenix's control over his own vocal cords.

“Your words are meaningless, Mr. Wright. Just like you.”

Phoenix is rooted to the spot, frozen by fear and shame. The dormant flame of self-doubt and panic builds in his chest, making it harder still to breathe.

Manfred’s cutting words grow louder, as if he’s shouting right in his ear despite remaining in place.

“I won’t waste my time doing all the work to put you in your place, you pathetic derelict. Now! You will be beaten into submission. I’ll simply deliver the finishing blow.”

Manfred snaps his fingers, and Franziska surges forward with her blazing whip. Phoenix can’t get his limbs to move, so the whip strikes his right forearm.

He swears as the pain jolts him out of paralysis. He stumbles back and watches Manfred striding off. 

“Finally, Phoenix Wright, another opportunity to crush you under my heel.”

Phoenix turns toward her mocking voice as she brandishes her whip over her head.

“A von Karma is always perfect, but a perfect victory is meaningless if you give in like a coward at the first hint of trouble. You’d better make this worth my while.”

Ah, there’s that familiar taunting he so dearly missed.

It’s nothing he hasn’t really heard from her before, and her threats in court mostly felt empty because of her bravado. But the whip was never a joking matter, and even less when it’s _on fire_ , so he has enough sense and adrenaline now to scramble out of range of her next attack. 

She advances with a flurry of strikes, alternating high and low, leaving Phoenix madly hopping around. He manages to avoid direct hits, but the trail of fire gets close enough to singe his outfit and hair a few times. 

“Hmph! You may have some smarts after all, _Phoenix Wright_. But even here, you are nothing but a fool.”

He falters, barely dodging another crack of the whip. “H-here?”

Franziska rolls her eyes and gives her whipping arm a break. 

“That’s what I said, yes.” she curtly replies, pacing in circles around him. “Here in the depths of your heart, you are still a foolish fool on a fool’s errand, foolishly unable to learn from your foolish mistakes!”

His heart…?

He’s on edge, trying to decipher what she’s saying, trying to anticipate her next attack, to regain any semblance of control over the situation. He can’t strike back, though — he could never do that to her, aggressive as she may be. Phoenix is more or less used to riding out things like this, and hurting Franziska wouldn’t make her stop.

Not that he can get near with that whip of hers anyway.

He looks around for her, and he locks eyes with Edgeworth for a split second. He didn’t realize Edgeworth had still been there. But as he turns to follow Manfred, Edgeworth might as well be looking right through Phoenix. Franziska takes advantage of the distraction and lunges from the right. 

“It’s your fault he left, you know. If he would not stay for the sake of his dear big sister—who, might I add, has known him longer—then it must have been you who drove him away!”

He’s starting to catch on to her rhythm. The whip barely grazes him as he spins on his heel. Phoenix’s face hardens with determination, and his hand shoots out to grab the whip, ignoring the burn biting into him. 

“You’re wrong.”

He yanks the whip out of her grasp and casts it aside.

She makes no move to recover it, stunned at being disarmed.

“I may be a fool, but even I know that’s not how it works.”

Franziska tries to stammer out a retort, but Phoenix presses on.

“It was _his_ stupid choice he made, and blaming me won’t undo that or make you feel any better. You weren’t the only one hurt by that.”

“What gives you the right,” she snarls. “You didn’t grow up with him! You didn’t hear him wake from his constant nightmares and sneak into his room and hope and pray Papa didn’t find out and further dismantle a siblinghood you didn’t know you wanted until it was too late.”

Franziska furiously blinks away the stinging in her eyes.

“I…” He hesitates. “You’re right, I didn’t.” They had only had a brief window of time together. Phoenix didn’t _really_ get to know Edgeworth as well as he wanted to before he was suddenly gone, both times.

“You… you were left behind too. I didn’t realize. I’m sorry.” 

She narrows her eyes. “What are you playing at? I don’t want your pity!”

“Can you calm down? That’s not what I’m doing. Though you sound just like him when you say that.”

“Just like him,” Franziska echoes with a mirthless laugh. “I’m always ‘just like him,’ my brother and Papa, except where it matters. I was never good enough to step out of their shadows.”

Oh. Admittedly, Phoenix hadn’t given much thought to her struggles in the aftermath of such heavy situations. He was too caught up in his downward spiral to consider much outside of himself, even though they were both clearly grieving for their own reasons. He shouldn’t have let his anger pile up into resentment, as much as it had pained him to be reminded of Edgeworth whenever he and Franziska faced off.

Phoenix frowns in thought. “To be honest, your dad kinda messed up your head because he’s a shitty person. But unlike him, you never gave up when you lost, and you never cheated. You’ve already surpassed him, Franziska, and you know it. Your ‘little brother’ would be proud of you, too.” 

The fight drains from her, something he never thought he’d see. She starts tearing up even more, looking her young age for once.

“Why are you being nice to me, Phoenix Wright? I don’t understand…”

“You say that like I’m trying to trick you. Which… no wait, yeah, that tracks. _Man_ your dad sucks. Not that you need me to tell you that.” _Doing great, Phoenix_. “It didn’t help me in our trials, and I know it’s not really gonna help me right this moment if I stay mad. You should give it a try some time.” 

Franziska snorts her amusement, pausing to take in his words. “Ah, I … see.”

“You’ve had your share of people being shitty to you. I don’t see any point in adding to that list.” His eyes light up with mischief at a sudden realization. “I figure you of all people deserve some good _karma_.”

In a flash, her whip rematerializes partly coiled between her fists, now clenched in front of her. She pulls it taut, delights in Phoenix’s terror, and coils the rest of the whip to put it away in her holster.

With a satisfied smirk, she says, “You are certainly a fool, but perhaps you are not truly stupid after all. Never make such pitiful attempts at humor in my presence again. And… good luck on your journey, Phoenix Wright.”

She fades away — okay, weird _—_ and Edgeworth is standing there again, arms crossed. 

“So, it’s you and me now,” Phoenix breathes deeply to ready himself for whatever fresh hell is about to start next. 

The air chills with the icy heat from Edgeworth’s signature glare. The Demon Prosecutor radiates contempt like when they first met in court. 

“Don’t think I’ll hesitate to take you down, _Wright_.” Edgeworth makes no move to attack him like Franziska did. He doesn’t need to.

Instead, Phoenix feels like he’s been swallowed by a chasm rending the ground under his feet as memories replay all around him, taking over his vision. How ruthless Edgeworth was, smug and cold and calculating. How he insulted Phoenix at practically every chance. How he hadn’t blinked when he accused Maya and then Phoenix of Mia’s murder. How he’d been molded into the image of that bastard excuse for a mentor.

Phoenix is stuck reliving that pain, and a familiar vein of doubt and insecurity wells up in his mind. It bears Edgeworth’s voice. 

He’s haunted by the indifference Edgeworth had shown ( _shows_ ). It was like their past had meant ( _means_ , Edgeworth corrects again) nothing to him. He just brushed off all attempts at reconnecting ( _Sensing a pattern yet?)_. Phoenix had sent dozens and dozens of letters over the years, talking about anything and everything he could, and in return, Edgeworth said nothing at all. ( _Can’t you take a hint, Wright?)_

“No, no it can’t— it wasn’t like that.” 

( _You can certainly tell yourself that. Clearly, the evidence reveals quite a different story. And why_ were _you so adamantly hounding me, hm? I don’t believe I asked for anything of the sort.)_

Phoenix shrinks in on himself. 

Everything is happening at once, and he doesn’t know which memory is least bad to look at so he squeezes his eyes shut, and it’s getting hard to tell his own thoughts apart from the _Edgeworth-acting-out-my-anxiety-thoughts and now breathing doesn’t feel right and his eyes sting and Why are you so_ obsessed _with me anyway? It’s hardly healthy, judging by your tears And he’s right who even does that_

“Stop…”

_like who gets addicted to someone you haven’t seen in years_

“Edgeworth, _please_ ,” Phoenix chokes out. His throat feels coated with ash. 

_just because you were school friends for a couple of months why am I like this_

“Miles, **stop!** ”

And finally, things go quiet save for Phoenix’s sniffling and unsteady breathing. The barrier of memories lifts away like smoke, and he sees Edgeworth standing in front of him again. He’s not as frigid-looking now, but he’s not exactly friendly either.

“...Why are you doing this?” Phoenix mutters toward the ground.

Edgeworth blinks. “I don’t follow.”

“I just… I don’t understand what you get out of this, Edgeworth.” He meets Edgeworth’s eyes with a watery smile. “Hah... you know, for a guy who claims he doesn’t care, you sure are putting a lot of effort into all this.”

“I’m merely presenting facts, Wright.” Edgeworth glances to the side, his nervous habit betraying his carefully constructed indifference.

“Well, this isn’t exactly court, but I think it’s my turn to ‘present some facts.’ Maybe I can’t change your mind. But I can change mine.”

Phoenix lays out his case. In just a handful of work-related interactions over a few months, Phoenix had chipped away at the walls and nudged Edgeworth out of his self-imposed isolation. Edgeworth had grown past his unfeeling façade on his own, too, which had already started showing in their second trial together. Edgeworth let Phoenix defend him, even when he himself thought his case hopeless. They actually worked _together_ more than against each other for Lana’s trial. 

And he… he hadn’t completely forgotten Phoenix. He’d kept the Signal Samurai keychain, after all. And he’d also eased off on insulting Phoenix.

Edgeworth looks conflicted, holding himself stiffly.

Phoenix can’t say he enjoyed all their clashing in court, though they’d both come out stronger lawyers as a result. And, he thinks, he should probably tone down the “chasing after him” a bit. Maybe Edgeworth doesn’t feel strongly about him in the same way, but that’s not the end of the world.

“Fine. You win. Just leave me alone, Wright.” His voice weakens, losing most of its bite.

That’s it? He’s not sure how he’d expected Edgeworth to respond. This is definitely _preferable_ over what was going on before, but Phoenix still feels like he’s treading a narrow path, trying to come up with the right response. Maybe he’s done enough talking for now.

Emboldened, Phoenix strides toward him. Edgeworth flinches, releasing the grip on his own arm to shield part of his face.

Phoenix pauses. He’s never gotten this reaction before, and it hurts to think about why that reflex exists. Phoenix slows to approach Edgeworth more carefully and gently wraps him in a hug. 

“It’s okay, Miles,” he murmurs near his ear. “I forgive you.”

The tension leaves Edgeworth’s body, and he wraps his arms underneath Phoenix’s to hold him closer. 

“This wouldn’t be the first time we had to begin again, right Miles?”

Edgeworth pulls away a bit, revealing a hint of a smile. 

“I suppose you have a point... You know what to do next, Phoenix. Everything begins with the truth,” he encourages before fading away.

Okay, that’s… still kinda weird. 

Rather than a sense of loss, he feels renewed determination. In real life, Phoenix only had to endure Manfred’s abuse for three days, and it had been enough to fuel his insecurities from that time. But not anymore.

He turns to stare down Manfred von Karma, who’s deigned to make his appearance again.

Manfred glares back with a wicked grin, but Phoenix wastes no time and marches up to him. He’s done with all the insults and degradation and _bullshit_ and he’s _not_ gonna wait for whatever pompous shit he has to say.

Phoenix stops in front of him, lifting his chin defiantly, blood pounding in his ears.

“There’s nothing I can do about your vile heart.” 

The dreamscape around them fades white in time with Phoenix’s hammering pulse as he winds his arm up almost all the way behind him.

“ _Burn in hell_.” 

Phoenix slams his fist squarely in von Karma’s chest. Manfred is bowed backward, howling in rage and pain as his spirit-body splinters from the impact. The shattering reverberates throughout the now-empty city. 

The first lock is broken.

Phoenix is ready when the next lock’s keyhole-portal spin-blossoms open, and he dives right in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello gamers! Things are Starting to Happen now 
> 
> Sayonara Wild Hearts music for this chapter (play the game if you can; the visuals are rad as hell): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=baJ0aNBsE44  
> Next week, it's time for a midnight jaunt
> 
> Kudos/comments appreciated! Lemme know your thoughts or if you just want to yell. I know that's what I did when writing this!


	3. You'll End Up Blinded by the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deception and disillusion feat. sadness and stunts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to Miles' "disappearance"  
> Also Sayonara Wild Hearts follows the Rule of Cool so... keep that in mind lol

This time, Phoenix is transported to a dark forest. It’s eerily quiet compared to the city he was in a moment ago. In the dream space, there’s no natural background noise — no crickets or leaves rustling or anything, just the growl of his motorcycle and the wind in his ears. 

The bike guides him toward the hazy blue horizon, weaving between dark and light trees dotted with aqua leaves. Something about this place feels familiar, with its worn bridges, stone lanterns and crumbling archways.

Phoenix idly tries to puzzle it out, but his mind goes blank as a shiver ripples through him. He’s being watched, and it’s more than one set of eyes that prickles at his back.

He’s not exactly stealthy on a motorcycle after all.

It’s hard to see at this speed as he winds through trees and forgotten trails carved through the occasional hill, so all Phoenix has to go off of is fleeting glimpses. He can make out an imposing broad figure, someone with a comically large pouf of hair, and some pointy-collared person? There might be a fourth person, but it doesn’t seem as solid and distinguishable as the others. In the low light, he can just barely see flashes of orange and black and red and … silver? It’s just a dream, right? Wishful thinking and all that?

Through a break in the canopy, moonlight filters down like a spotlight, illuminating four figures now standing down the path. Like in the last encounter, they’re wearing matching domino masks; unlike before, the masks look like angular gray wolf heads, complete with little triangle bits on the top as ears. It might’ve been cute, if Phoenix hadn’t just gotten close enough to recognize the wearers.

Gant. Morgan. Engarde.

And Edgeworth’s despondent ghost. 

The villainous trio starts to raise their bent right arm. Edgeworth, perfectly void of life, copies the motion mechanically with a slight delay, his eyes empty and unfocused. In unison, they flick their wrist overhead to point up and slightly outward as if signalling someone. 

Apparently, it _was_ some kind of cue because the forest inverts colors like a photo negative. Everything turns blinding white, and Phoenix instinctively shields his eyes with his arms.

The motorcycle, it seems, has not decided to remain completely on auto-pilot. As the rocky ground tilts a bit, so too does the bike. Phoenix throws his hands back on the handles with a jerk to narrowly avoid crashing into a tree. This has the expected effect of over-correcting and steering him the other way toward some large rocks.

“Oh god oh fuck uhhhh okay? At least it’s still doing the accelerating part. And steering is just like a regular bike still, right? Yeah, let’s just go with that.”

Despite his also still accelerating heart rate, Phoenix steadies the handlebars and does his best to train his sights on the distorted surroundings. He regains his balance and remembers to make only small movements to avoid further hazards.

In his distraction, he’s completely lost sight of them, because of course he has. They’re more about manipulating from behind the scenes anyway. He wanders long enough to come across another rough, worn stony pathway. Now that he doesn’t have to concentrate as hard on not hitting something, he can attempt to search them out. He spots animal-like shadows bounding from the sides and onto the path ahead of him, and his motorcycle revs in response. 

He leans down along the bike, growing more determined in his pursuit. Phoenix can still hear echoes of them laughing at him, condescending and cruel, with all their head games. He gains on them enough to make out angular steel-gray tails and limbs.

It’s— They’re wolf mechs. Half a dozen sleek paneled low-poly looking _robots_ in the shape of a wolf. That are almost the size of a fucking car. Well, now he really isn’t sure what he was going to do. A motorcycle chase isn’t all that conducive to high-level strategizing, and there’s no strategy for an average dumbass on a bike that he can barely drive going up against _wolf mechs_.

He keeps going, closing the gap bit by bit, but the forest reverts to its original, but darker, appearance. Phoenix is stuck adjusting to the darkness, afterimages clouding his sight over the bright white of his headlights. The mecha-wolves jump to face him, their landing shaking the ground a bit and cracking the stepping stones underfoot. They hurtle right at him one after another. Phoenix tenses and outmaneuvers their barrage. 

In their wake, laser-sharp pinpricks of guilt from his intermediate lawyer days spike through him. He shakes his head to try to break free from the spell. He’s reminded of how he’d basically accused Ema of murder. He _did_ accuse Adrian. He _kind of_ lied to Pearl about needing Mia, but he couldn’t just let her see her own family in peril like that both times.

But he doesn’t have time for this. He needs to figure out where the hell Gant and the others went this time or if the wolves from before are going to strike from behind. He braces himself, but nothing comes blasting his way. It’s too late anyhow — he’s fallen into the memory trap. 

In this empty forest, Phoenix is alone, just as he was for most of those cases. Maya was training or arrested or kidnapped and Miles was… gone. 

He’s embarrassed by how much he’d been unraveling throughout those absences. What’s left of Phoenix Wright when his closest friends aren’t around? For months at a time he had nowhere to go, with no cases he felt like taking, yet he still holed up at work to cling to any sense of familiarity. With all that free time in the office he never expected to inherit, he was blindsided by grief he’d had to bury to function. He still didn’t know what to do with some of Mia’s belongings, and Maya wasn’t there to claim any of it.

He had no illusions that losing Miles wrecked him. It was the cumulative effect of finally having time to mourn Mia — the one who’d been actively instrumental in changing his life — and being blindsided by the note that unfortunately made more and more sense in retrospect. 

He’d stare into space, zoning out in all hours of the day, in the dead of night when he inevitably couldn’t sleep, wondering why _he_ was the only one alive. Important people to him: gone, just like that. Phoenix alone in a city of ghosts. By morning his rational instincts would catch up with him, and he’d remember he had Maya and Pearls.

When they’d been safe and sound anyway.

And wasn’t it strange how he’d come to rely on the company of those girls to keep him sane? Especially when they were also grieving their family. Yet he still brought _children_ with him to crime scenes and the courtroom where he should’ve been able to stand by himself. Hell, he could barely stumble his way through an investigation without a magic lie-detecting rock.

… A magic lie-detecting rock that got him this far.

Phoenix carefully steadies the handlebars with one hand while he checks his pocket. Sure enough, he fishes out the jade magatama. The soft green glow eases him back to the present, but he’s not sure what to do from here. There’s nothing in sight, and the rules have been thoroughly tossed out the window and plummeted several stories to the ground since he fell into this dream. He clutches the magatama in his palm and brings that hand back to the handles so he doesn’t make the same steering mistake from earlier.

He doesn’t expect the magatama to be the silver bullet here, since it doesn’t do that in real life either. It was a tool that pointed him in the right direction. Yes, it sometimes confirmed things he’d already suspected, but even if it did the opposite, he still had to do all the legwork himself to unearth the truth.

Rounding another bend, the headlights sweep over an intersection, the lights a few degrees greener than before. At the other three points of the crossroads, each (living) wearer of the wolf masks are poised for attack. Clustered around them are wolf mechs and phantom forms of all the innocent or unwitting people they used for their own ends — young family members, managers and subordinates, half the city’s legal system.

Phoenix groans. He logically knows that the people are only shades and aren’t physically here. But then he remembers the bite of Franziska’s whip, the deep-running connection to some form of reality that meant his thoughts and words and actions affected Franziska and Miles, and the solid resistance from super-punching Manfred. Phoenix couldn’t stomach whatever amount of physical or emotional force he’d need if he _were_ to take on all the people being controlled.

He’s plainly outnumbered, he’s getting closer to the crossroads, and Phoenix _knows_ he ought to make some sort of choice, maybe try to draw one group’s attention and lead them away where the others can’t as quickly follow. Any decision is just delaying the inevitable, and his vision tunnels, and they must be fucking with the forest again, trying to throw him off with a gradual color tint or something.

Not sure how a lovely shade of green is supposed to disorient him, but he grips the handlebars tighter instinctually. Phoenix can’t feel the magatama he was holding. His clarity sharpens, and he notices the motorcycle’s headlights are cutting through the darkness with the same intense green glow of the magatama in action.

In agonizing over the paths laid before him, he’d forgotten the possibility of another choice. One where he doesn’t (sort of?) hurt people. A secret fourth path doesn’t magically appear, but with the extra light he sees the ground is level enough. There’s nothing to _stop_ him from going off road. 

Phoenix swerves in the middle of the intersection, aiming between Morgan’s and Engarde’s little assembly. He zigzags through the crowd, and the leaders are too dumbfounded by Phoenix’s stupidly simple stunt to signal their victims to follow.

He makes another snap decision, twisting a bit so he can yell behind him, “Come and face me yourself, cowards!”

Maybe provoking three masterful manipulators isn’t the _smartest_ decision. But Phoenix is well known for putting his head in the wolf’s mouth and somehow surviving each time. Indirectly insulting the work ethic and capability of egotistic freaks is working pretty well for now though. Morgan, Engarde, and Gant mount some wolf mechs and chase after Phoenix, leaving all their puppets behind.

He can vaguely sense their positions behind him, and he holds onto that awareness while he calculates his next move. First, he sees he may have miscalculated. Driving off into the woodsier part means his view is, surprisingly, blocked by trees. He finds one of the chipped stone lanterns from much earlier and heads that way, assuming that’ll lead to more structures or anything organized at all. 

Sure enough, more lanterns and posts dot a slope coming up on his left. Logic dictates the woods provide him more cover from his pursuers, which he would lose by going uphill. But the flipside is that he’s less likely to get lost further in the forest, and he in turn can tell where they are.

Eh, logic is optional. He goes with his gut, heading up the hill. The lanterns lead to posts lead to the occasional archway to remnants of walls built along and across the natural outcroppings off to the side. 

He glances back, and they’re catching up with him. The wolf mechs have a clear terrain-handling advantage over a motorcycle going uphill, and they start to move in concert like a three-headed beast. Phoenix sweats and begs for his motorcycle to go faster. 

When he looks forward again, he’s met with another unsettling sight. This far up, he can see a ravine growing to his other side while the hill reaches higher. His choices in direction are narrowing again, and he’s fairly limited to continuing uphill due to the broken-down retaining walls. Maybe he could just turn around and hope they somehow don’t collide with him so he can go back the way he came? To lower, less dizzying ground? 

Okay, so Phoenix isn’t going to be able to outrun them. They’re already intruding into his periphery, mechanical legs pummeling the ground and rattling his bones like a bunch of jackhammer-pogo sticks. He can’t turn around, right, he went over that already. He could go away from the ravine. That seems like a safe very good excellent choice. It seems too simple though. Okay, so there are old-ass arches and lanterns and walls, which he remembers seeing when he first entered this place. There has to be something else, right?

Between another string of archways in the distance, a bridge comes into view. Wonderful! A bridge. Right over the ravine. It’s made of stone at least, so it looks sturdy enough from this far away, despite a few cosmetic cracks. Better yet, the weathered arches are much narrower. Not great for his fear of heights, but he’ll be able to shake off at least one of the people tailing him. 

He guns it toward the bridge. Phoenix nervously checks behind him again, and they don’t seem keen on sorting out who goes where or forming an orderly single-file line. Well, whatever, that’s their problem.

What is also their problem, and Phoenix’s, is the fast-approaching bridge. The one that does not actually seem as solid as it did from afar. It’s just as dilapidated as all the crumbly architecture that led here. 

His mind goes into overdrive. Even if they do line up nice and neat behind him, who knows how much one of those wolf-mechs weighs. … Let alone up to three of them. Along with a motorcycle. A perfect trap that could just as brutally backfire. 

This wouldn’t be the first time he sped across a bridge against anyone’s rational judgment, and he probably won’t die in the dream. He’ll just... Feel whatever falling off a stone bridge onto trees and ground feels like. 

He passes through the first archway onto the bridge, trying not to think about how the narrowness means he’s that much closer to the edge. A moment later, one of the mechs slams into the arch, breaking off chunks of the column, and metal screeches against metal. The impact or the weight of one or more of the wolf mechs or some combination of those makes the bridge quake, and the deep cracking of stone drowns out everything else and Phoenix just goes and goes and _goes_ because he’s almost across and more fissures are starting to spider underneath him.

The final archway marking the end of the bridge trembles, more pieces of the bridge fall away behind Phoenix and he ignores sensory inputs like mangling metal or screams or anything else that isn’t laser-focused on getting him across the last stretch ahead of him. As he nears the threshold, his back tire catches slightly on a fresh divot and makes the bike go wobbly while the right column of the arch crumbles inward. He tugs the handlebars to the left just enough to dodge the falling rock, finally crossing to the other side.

His other senses start bleeding back into his awareness, and over the slight ringing in his ears, there’s nothing but his motorcycle. The bike slows and stops after a few more minutes, putting a solid safe distance between Phoenix and what remains of the bridge. His heart is thundering against his ribcage. He folds his arms over the handlebars and rests his read on them, gasping for breath and staring at the solid earth beneath him.

Phoenix grounds himself further, noticing the forest-y smell of dry and decaying leaves, feeling the cold-hot burn of his face from chill night wind and exertion. Outside of the mental trap, he can remind himself of the present: Mia is still gone, yes, but the years have worn the jagged edges of grief. Maya is safe and vibrant and one of Trucy’s beloved aunties. Miles is alive and even invited him to Europe even if they never… _technically_ sat down and talked about all the consequences of his “absence”.

Though he’s out of immediate peril, he can’t bring himself to think everything’s fine or under control like he has before. It never fools anyone anyway. Maybe 'cause none of this is _remotely_ normal, and it actually is kinda fucked up when he takes a moment to think about all these events from his past. 

He can’t just break away and leave it all behind — it’s still affecting him _now_ , if the dream intervention hadn’t made that abundantly clear. Consistently ignoring the actual weight of his problems has definitely had a hand in his current circumstances.

His breathing slows to a normal level while he sits in the quiet of the forest a little longer. Phoenix unfolds himself to sit upright and nudges the bike into motion, anticipating the next psychelock. The heart keyhole manifests, and he drives into its cyan kaleidoscope tunnel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha you ever think about how compacted aa1 and aa2 are and how there's like no time for anyone to process anything?  
> Yes I wrote a chase instead of dialog because I had no idea how to write these bozos who don't really have a personal thing against Phoenix, what of it <3  
> This chapter's vibe from SWH zone boss level: [Dead of Night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XhfcUAs3W4M)  
> Next time: Two of Them
> 
> Comments and kudos give me more Max HP and I love yelling about stuff with people too

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I know this isn't like, Super Accurate tarot interpretation since lol only major arcana, but I did use the legit star layout which ends up fitting well given the order of Sayonara Wild Hearts levels and this man's Big Problems  
> Tune in next week for a hell of a time heheh  
> Again pls feel welcome to kudos and comment I love validation


End file.
